


Claustrophobia

by orphan_account



Category: K-pop, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Dom Kim Taehyung | V, Drabble, Eventual Smut, F/M, Gratuitous Smut, Hotel Sex, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, Romance, Shameless Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-29 13:20:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11441739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Your initial agenda was simply to reunite and spend quality time with your best friend after a long year of being apart, and it didn't include getting helplessly trapped within the suffocating confines of an elevator with a man you barely even knew - or so you thought.





	Claustrophobia

**Author's Note:**

> I just want to establish beforehand that smut is not my forte, so I'm open to acknowledging any flaws or inadequacies in my mental imagery. 
> 
> I took on writing this merely as a challenge to dabble on other genres I'm not confident in. 
> 
> This also happens to be the first fic I've mustered the courage to post online, so fingers crossed that you enjoy it as much as I did writing it. Feedback would be much appreciated.

“Now that I’m in Seoul, it’s finally hit me that I’m actually seeing BTS tomorrow. I can’t wait!” The ecstasy in your best friend Sora’s text message transcends the screen of your phone.

You have but the slightest idea who BTS are besides the fact that their name stands for Bangtan Sonyeondan – information you’ve collated from Sora’s constant chanting of it as she shamelessly blasts their songs during your frequent FaceTime calls. Talking through FaceTime was the best solution you both could devise to cope with the inevitable throes of university life together, and somehow mend your tragic long-distance friendship, after you left Daegu to pursue your passion in music at the prestigious Korea National University of Arts in Seoul.

It intrigues you as to what kind of enchantment BTS weaved on young, innocent girls like Sora to coax her into purchasing vain things such as paperweights that barely had any sensible relation to them and only took up space. You regard it a miracle that she even went out of her way to come to Seoul for them – something you sadly can’t say she has ever done for you, her only best friend. To be fair, she’s on spring break at the moment allowing her the luxury of time to leave Daegu, but you’ve never seen her this eager to travel for anything, let alone without any companion. Frankly, her dedication to BTS makes a mother’s dedication to her firstborn child pale in comparison.

Unlike her, you’re not a fan of the group because you’ve never gotten around to looking them up on the internet. You’re usually too preoccupied and stress-induced by rehearsals for your monthly piano recitals in school to even spare time on the internet for anything not academic-related.

It doesn’t genuinely bother you because you were never a fan of kpop to begin with, discernible in your relatively mild interest in boy groups. It’s not because of a conclusive dislike for the genre, but more of a lack of exposure to it. You’ve always been listening to classical music your whole life, and in an even more extensive manner now that you’re taking it up as a major in college. Your upbringing holds accountable for your rather sophisticated taste in music that you find most people your age simply can’t relate to.

Despite not being the main reason for Sora’s visit, in no way does it diminish the excitement you feel about seeing her again in the flesh after a year of being apart. Acquainted with her problematic tendency to skip meals whenever she gets too excited for something, you bring a box of your favorite convenience store fried chicken with you to share with her for dinner just in case. You dash to the nearest taxi cab and tell the driver the name of Sora’s hotel in the hopes that your chicken doesn’t go cold before you’re able to feast on it.

You reunite with a tight, warm embrace. Two hours prove to be ample time for you two to bond and finish your meal, as there really isn’t much to catch up on that you haven’t already discussed over FaceTime. It was merely feeling each other's physical presence that made it remotely special.

“Okay, I’m off. Have fun tomorrow,” you stumble out the door as you rise from a half-kneeling position after tying a double knot with your unnecessarily long shoelaces.

As you exit her room and walk through the hallway towards the elevators, you crumple the plastic bag in which the box of fried chicken was earlier and shove it into your bulky, medium-sized shoulder bag – the only other bag you own besides a modest school bag. You purchased the black one purposefully despite its availability in multiple other colors because of its neutrality, complementing any outfit you could possibly come up with, no matter how uncoordinated.

Your bag is always filled with random knickknacks and candy wrappers that you’re too busy to dispose of. Every time you run errands and unzip your bag, you would remind yourself to get rid of them as soon as you come across a garbage bin, but it always ends up getting lost in your jostled mind as it flooded with perturbed thoughts of the mountain of music books haphazardly sitting on your study desk, and seemingly infinite hours of tedious piano practice you had left to go through at home.

You reach the elevators and press the button marked with an arrow pointing down. Your impatience grows after waiting for almost ten whole minutes for any of the two elevators before you to open. The hotel is, in fact, the tallest building in the block and had about 60 floors at most, but it shouldn’t take one that disturbingly long to arrive on your floor.

Finally, the elevator on the right slides open.

You are caught in a daze. Inside is a young-looking man, presumably in his early-twenties, who looks like he jumped straight out of a fictional realm. He’s tall, gifted with legs that went on for days, broad masculine shoulders, a desirable sun-kissed complexion, silky sunset brown hair that reflected the light from the elevator ceiling panels, lusciously thick, straight eyebrows, tall nose, and a sharp, angular jaw that makes him appear like a greek sculpture chiseled to perfection.

His slightly unbuttoned light blue polo, which is smoothly tucked into his belted black slacks is akin to the color of the sky on clear, crisp mornings – a color you’re actually wearing at the moment yourself. You pause briefly, lost in his deep, piercing chestnut eyes that fixated on you. He refuses to avert his gaze as if patiently expecting an overt reaction from you at the sight of him.

It’s when you shake your head to clear it from your brief reverie and remember what you’re ought to do in the first place, which is to enter the elevator, that you take the initiative to break eye contact.

Your rosy cheeks flush further, body tense as the elevator closes. Despite your best efforts to obscure your unease, you fail miserably. He can see right through you and studies your rear like an open book as he stood with his head leaning against the corner of the wall, hands in his pockets.

The railing attached to the back wall begins to produce a monotonous tapping sound as his fingernails repetitively come into brief contact with it and rise. Each consecutive tap sends chills running down your spine. It has never been your nature to get flustered around men, but there’s something overwhelming about his intimidating aura that you can’t quite pinpoint.

_Relax, (Y/N). You’re almost at the lobby._

The elevator swiftly passes the fifth floor as you calmly reassure yourself in your thoughts. Just as you are about to reach the lobby, it comes to an abrupt stop on the second floor. You wait a brief moment for the doors to open, but much to your chagrin, it remains shut.

“What happened?” muttering slightly as you press random buttons, peevishly anticipating a response from the elevator, but to no avail. Even the emergency button isn’t working.

“Looks like we’re stuck,” the deep, honeyed voice of the man behind you catches you off guard.

You were already attracted to him the moment you set foot into the elevator, and now after hearing him speak, you’re practically smitten. His voice is like chocolate – sweet and irresistible. You wouldn’t mind listening to it all day.

You take a moment before you speak again.

“What? No, that can’t be,” pretending to be shocked at the inevitability of being helplessly trapped in the elevator.

The lights on all corners of the panelled ceiling except the one directly above your head flicker until they burn out. It hasn’t gone completely dark, with the only functioning light dimly illuminating a faint glow.

The brightness is just enough for you to admire the way the light casted shadows on his face and accentuated his well-defined features.

Adrenaline rush finally kicks in. Yes, you’re not alone, but it doesn’t negate the fact that the person you’re with is still a man – a complete stranger at that – who may or may not be having lewd thoughts about you.

Your claustrophobia doesn’t help your brewing anxiety either. You fumble for your phone inside your bag to inform anyone of the unfortunate situation you’ve gotten yourself into and request for immediate help, but it isn’t there. You attempt to recall where you’ve left it.

_Shoot._

It’s in Sora’s bathroom.

Your mother calls a few times a week to regularly check up on you in the evening when she presumes you’re already home from school. It just so happened that you were about to lather your hands with soap in Sora’s bathroom sink earlier when your phone rang, causing you to absent-mindedly leave it by the sink after taking the call and patting your hands dry with a towel.

You curse under your breath. _Why did I forget my phone out of everything? Why couldn’t I have left the damn candy wrappers instead?_

“Shit. My phone’s run out of charge,” he says after watching you rummage through your bag. “I don’t think the maintenance crew will be able to address the issue right away too because it’s late.”

You check your watch for the time.

It’s half-past midnight.

You’re screwed.

Standing eventually begins to feel like a chore, so you both decide to sit on the floor after the tedious wait for nothing. At this point, there’s no hope of contacting anyone outside, so you will simply have to wait until the hotel staff notice and take action.

You feel his smoldering gaze boring into your back even though you’re looking down at the carpeted floor, arms hugging your knees to your chest for a minimal source of comfort.

You take a quick glance at your outfit and gulp anxiously, realizing it isn’t exactly the most conservative ensemble. His eyes are tracing lines across the bare, olive skin that your light blue, spaghetti strap silk top fails to cloak. To make matters worse, your black, tight-fitting leather pants hugged you on all the right places, emphasizing the curves of your hips.

You break into a sweat, and your hands begin to feel clammy against your legs at the sudden jolt of attention being directed towards your body.

Neither of you utter a word for at least five minutes.

Finally, he decides to break the awkward silence.

“Are you staying in this hotel too?”

“No, I just came to visit a friend from Daegu. She came all the way here to watch a concert tomorrow night,” you reply shortly before you’re able to filter out any extraneous information. 

As if he gives a damn about why your friend is here. His question is plainly answerable by a "yes" or "no", but being the loquacious person you are, you tend to reveal more than what is necessary in conversation.

“Is it the BTS concert by any chance?”

“Uh… Yeah,” quite taken aback by how he knows this.

You’re certain that you never mentioned which concert in particular it is, but the vivid memories of Sora boasting about BTS’s worldwide fame resurface in your mind. Anyone is bound to have heard of them at least. He might even be an avid fan of the group himself.

“Are you a fan as well?”

He chuckles and you wonder if you’ve said anything ridiculous that may have triggered that.

“Hmm… Well, I do listen to their songs quite often, so I guess you could say that. They’re pretty good, actually,” he gives an acknowledging nod. “What about you? Aren’t _you_ a fan?”

There’s a certain coyness in his tone as if he’s trying to implicitly hint at something you can’t put your finger on.

“No. I barely even know the members’ names. All I know is that they’re seven,” you reply with slight uncertainty. “I’m more of a classical music type of person because it’s my major in college. I guess you can say I have a very refined taste in music for an 18-year-old.” There you go again blurting out unnecessary information.

“Oh, is that so? I like listening to classical music as well. Clair De Lune is my favorite. I listen to Debussy, Chopin, and Schubert’s compositions occasionally.”

Now you’re beginning to speculate if he’s some sort of a psychic, who has been reading your mind all this time without your willing consent. Clair De Lune is your favorite composition of Debussy, and quite possibly your favorite piano composition of all time, not only because of its simple yet euphonious, soothing melody, but also because it has sentimental value to you. Your mother would hum it as a lullaby for you every night back in your childhood even until your pubescent years, especially at nights when your insomnia wouldn’t leave you be.

And if that weren’t enough of an uncanny coincidence, he even mentions Debussy, Chopin, and Schubert – the three main composers you look up to the most. Their compositions are what compelled you to become a pianist back in high school.

You’ve never encountered anyone who shares a similar taste in classical music as you besides other piano performance majors, let alone anyone who simultaneously appreciates both mainstream and classical music, as most people you know outside of university dismiss the latter as a “dull, boring genre”.

Sharing interests with him deepens your attraction.

“Sorry if I’m being intrusive by asking this, but are you a music student?” you ask cautiously, not wanting to pry. “Because I am.”

Your eagerness for his response manifests in your earnest expression. If you were a dog, your ears would have already perked up.

“Oh, I don’t study anymore, but I do work in the music industry. Enough of me,” he digresses. “I want to know more about you.” His gravelly voice suddenly shifts to an assertive tone as if it isn’t an option for you to refuse heeding any of his inquiries.

There’s no harm in sharing some things about yourself except confidential information such as your home address and phone number, which is obviously a given. You know you’re bound to get to know each other as the conversation progresses and it eases the awkward atmosphere in this enclosed space, so you go along with it.

“I’m (Y/N) and I’m currently a piano performance major at Korea National University of Arts,” you begin, hoping you sound interesting enough. “I’m originally from Daegu, but I moved here to pursue my musical dreams,” you hesitate to continue for a split second. “It may sound cheesy, but I really want to become a successful musician known by many people someday. ”

His eyes widen. “I actually relate to you a lot. I’m from Daegu too, but I came here to Seoul to pursue a career in-“

His voice cuts halfway as if holding himself back from spilling further details about himself.

You notice this and decide to bury your curiosity under the rug despite your sudden urge to attack him with an onslaught of questions, getting a clear impression that he doesn’t want to expound the topic.

He clears his throat and speaks again. “I don’t mean to burst your bubble, but I’ve never encountered any classical musician who has successfully made it big in the industry,” trying his best not to come off as rude. “At least none that I know of.” His big, round eyes inspect your face with explicit admiration. “However, if you’re open to exploring a genre such as kpop then I think you should consider auditioning for an entertainment company as an idol,” he encourages you with an auspicious smile. “I must’ve made you feel uncomfortable by staring at you for so long, but please take it as a compliment. it’s unreal how beautiful you are.”

Your cheeks heat up at his candid remarks. “I’m really not, but thank you,” you reply rashly to conceal your heavy breathing. “The thing is I haven’t really gotten around to properly listening to kpop, so it would be unfair for me to conclude that I dislike it without giving it a chance.” You’re more comfortable speaking now. “Maybe I’ll give BTS a listen when I get home, but first we need to get out of this elevator,” you chuckle half-heartedly.

In reality, you don’t want to get out of there. Ever.

This man easily helped you overcome your claustrophobia because honestly, who wouldn’t want to get stuck in an elevator with him? You found it ironic how he told you that your beauty is unreal, when you believe it’s totally the other way around.

What makes him even more appealing is his charismatic persona and hypnotizing stare that is enough to wreak havoc within the pits of your stomach.

“I really think you should give auditioning a shot,” he continues. “Besides your looks, you’re musically-inclined and you seem profoundly knowledgeable about playing an instrument, which is not a skill all idols can pridefully say they possess,” a reassuring smile lights up his face. “If you can sing and dance as well, then you’d be the total package.”

His enthusiasm about the topic amuses you. He exudes confidence that convinces you that has sufficient empirical knowledge about the music industry.

Your curiosity claws its way out of your chest again, but you mentally crush it into smithereens, chary not to pose any questions about him that he may not feel comfortable answering.

“Well, I used to be a member of the school choir and contemporary dance club back in high school, so I guess you could say I have quite the singing and dancing background. Playing the piano isn’t the only thing I’m keen on,” you raise your index finger at him and smile. “I do have other hobbies, and I joined various clubs back in high school. Effectively balancing multiple extracurricular activities with brilliant academic performance is key to getting into a good university, you know. Look where it got me,” you gush, as if boasting about your credentials at your college interview all over again.

“That’s incredible,” he says, looking genuinely impressed. “I personally know someone who also did contemporary dance in high school. He would be thrilled to know about you. Maybe you can show us your moves next time,” he grins. “I’d love to see you dance.”

Your body tenses at his words.

_Next time._

He wants to see you again. No. He knows he will see you again.

_I’d love to see you dance._

Why does your mind automatically generate indecent thoughts? You know he means “dance” as in “contemporary dance”, but his cocky grin suggests otherwise. His words are like discreet codes and you’re at the brink of sanity trying to unriddle them.

Despite your inner lustful desires, you maintain the façade of a principled, unyielding 18-year-old woman, who wouldn’t give herself away so easily at mere coquetry.

No doubt, he is aware of how insanely attractive he is, so it must be a walk in the park for him to pick up women. You’ve never deemed yourself special, so you’re probably just one of many women he’s seduced with flattery, and soon, one of many he has triumphantly lured into his den. Or maybe you’re just overanalyzing things.

Either way, you’re going to play hard to get.

“That is… if there will be a next time. Don’t get too ahead of yourself.” A smug smile spreads across your face.

His facial expression shifts from a gentle smile to a suggestive smirk.

 _Oh so we’re playing this game?_ he thinks to himself. He doesn’t utter a reply, and instead provokes you in the most irresistible way he knows possible – through his body language.

He starts unbuttoning his polo at a leisurely pace. Every time a button breaks free from its respective hole, you feel a lump form in your throat.

He stops midway to take a glimpse of the disoriented mess you’ve become, smiling smugly knowing that it was him who caused this. The walls suddenly feel like they’re caving in on you, constricting your already puffed breathing.

“It was getting really hot and suffocating. I hope you don’t mind.” He fails to hide his smirk.

Although it did become considerably warmer, neither of you is visibly perspiring. The remaining cool air that managed to come in from the hallway of the last floor the elevator opened to still lingers, so you know he didn’t do it for that reason. He took advantage of the situation to tease you, wanting to see how the tempting view of his bare, muscular chest would make you feel, and his racy behavior definitely garnered a reaction from you that amused him more than he thought it would.

Your chest continues to rise and fall at an increasingly rapid rate. His eyes dart to your chest, and ascend to your soft, plump lips. He bites his involuntarily, desperately wishing he was biting yours instead.

One of the straps of your silk top inadvertently falls off your shoulder, but you don’t pull it back in place. He watches it dangle freely, and licks his lips like a starving predator eyeing its prey. You cast him a furtive glance and smirk knowingly when you’ve caught him in the act.

His patience dwindles until he’s unable to take the sexual tension anymore. If he tries to restrain himself for even just a second longer, his insides might actually explode. It beguiles him how you are capable of driving him insane without even trying.

He finally succumbs to the temptation. He lifts you upright, aggressively grabs you by the wrists, and pins you against the wall.

You’re startled by the impact of his unforeseen action, but you don’t dare resist. His large hands fasten your forearms securely at your sides, fearing that you might disappear like a drifting daydream. It gives you slight pain and discomfort, but it’s the pleasurable kind. You have absolutely no complaints about the view you’re blessed with at the moment – a hungry, ridiculously hot, young man looking straight into your eyes with a fiery passion.

“Looks like I won the game.” Your inner goddess screams in victory.

“It was an absolute honor to lose to you.” His voice is husky and his breathing is rampant, as if he just ran a long marathon.

Right as your lips are about to crash into each other, you suddenly feel the elevator begin to descend, and your reflexes trigger you to push him away from you more forcefully than you intend before it opens to the lobby.

You attempt to fix your disheveled hair by combing through it with your fingers as he wipes away the beads of sweat that formed on his forehead. Fortunately, no one witnesses you both in that ungodly position because you were able to break free from him just in the nick of time.

Several faces greet you in the lobby. You assume they’re hotel staff by the looks of their polished navy blue uniform, fine burgundy silk scarves, and well-groomed hair that drastically contrasts your dull, unkempt locks.

“Are you alright?” someone in front asks you both intently. “We sincerely apologize for the inconvenience that our maintenance crew’s slow responsiveness has caused you.”

The apologetic voice comes from a woman who looks like she’s in her mid-thirties, clad in a different attire, sleeker and much more corporate-looking – a white buttoned polo with a navy blue tie, enveloped in a black vest, and matched with a gray pencil skirt. That’s when you realize she’s the hotel manager.

You instinctively check the time on your watch.

It’s quarter to two in the morning.

Typically at this hour, you would already be tucked-up in bed, but it doesn’t bother you that three hours have just been deducted from your 8-hour sleeping period. You wouldn’t have tonight any other way.

“it’s fine, really. Don’t get too worked up about it,” you smile courteously at her.

Of course you’re smiling. Not even a trace of displeasure could be found on your face. You weren’t upset about being stuck in there for more than an hour; if anything, you felt indebted to the heavens above for making your star-crossed paths meet at that exact place and time.

If this is what you’d get in exchange for sacrificing precious hours of sleep every night, then you were willing to become sleep-deprived. A rewind button would be very ideal right now, you think to yourself, wanting nothing else but to go back to the moment you were under his dominance, eyes like magnets locked fiercely at each other.

He nods in agreement. “Yeah, it wasn’t that big of deal. It’s not like we couldn’t breathe in there.”

 _Oh, but you couldn’t_ , you whisper in your thoughts. You practically snatched the air out of his lungs, and his breathlessness only turned you on even more.

“Thank you for your understanding. This incident has been duly noted so that it does not happen again as much as possible,” the hotel manager says apologetically. “Again, we are very sorry.”

She and the other staff surrounding you bow politely before getting back to work, leaving you both alone.

Your heart starts pounding out of your chest again. You’re at least a meter away from him, but the sexual tension makes it feel like you’re just an inch apart. You look calm on the outside, but inside your thoughts and emotions are in a turmoil.

Rushed footsteps echo in the distance and you watch as the silhouette of a rather stout man approaches you both. When he finally comes in close proximity to him, you realize their contrasting height difference.

“Taehyung, where have you been? We were looking all over for you!” the man says breathlessly as he jogs towards your direction. “The other members even thought you’d be missing until the concert tomorrow. What the hell happened?”

_Taehyung._

That name sounds vaguely familiar. You’ve definitely heard it before, but you just can’t seem to recollect when and where.

_Other members._

Wait a second.

_Concert._

Just who the hell is this guy?

“I was stuck in an elevator for more than an hour with this girl,” Taehyung idly motions his head in your direction. “My phone ran out of charge, so I couldn’t contact you.” Because the man had his fretful eyes on Taehyung the entire time, he didn’t notice you.

He immediately bows at the sight of you, and apologizes for failing to acknowledge your presence sooner.

You smile politely to reassure him it’s fine and bow back.

“What matters is I’m still alive, right? Don’t worry, Sejin. I won’t let the boys have fun on stage tomorrow without me,” he chuckles and pats Sejin’s shoulder.

“I’m glad that you’re safe,” Sejin heaves a euphoric sigh of relief. “I swear you boys stress me out so much. I felt like my veins were about to pop. Is this the kind of shit I signed up for as your manager? I want to resign!” he yells sarcastically, only to emphasize how worn to a frazzle he’s been for the past 2 hours.

“Like you would actually do that. You love us too much. You love me,” Taehyung giggles and playfully nudges Sejin’s arm.

You begin to question if Taehyung is the same man who had that hungry look on his face earlier as if he wanted to lick you off clean like his very own life-sized lollipop. Sejin laughs along with Taehyung and nudges him back.

It hits you how irkingly obtuse you’ve been for not realizing sooner that this man you were dangerously close to making out with is a member of BTS.

You almost shriek in astonishment at your sudden realization.

The reason his name didn’t instantly ring a bell even when you’ve already heard it is because you were only certain of their stage names and his is “V”. Although Sora has definitely mentioned the name “Taehyung” a couple of times on FaceTime, it wasn’t as catchy for it to get stuck in your mind like “V” did.

Taehyung and Sejin exchange a few more words before the latter finally retreats to his hotel room. You wonder why you stayed there in the first place like you were waiting for something to happen when you could’ve already departed minutes ago.

Before you even exit the revolving hotel door, a hand grabs your wrist from behind, and a knowing smile spreads covertly across the apples of your cheeks. You don’t admit it to yourself, but you were indeed waiting for him to stop you from leaving.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Taehyung lifts his eyebrow at you.

“Um… I’m going home. I should’ve peacefully retired to bed 2 hours ago. Besides, weren’t you supposed to go somewhere before we got stuck in the elevator?” you query.

“I was going to meet up with my manager and I just did,” he retorts. “You’re not going anywhere. We still have unfinished business.”

He forcefully pulls you into him and firmly holds you by the waist. Your hand unintentionally lands on the warm, bare skin of his chest as you attempt to regain balance. The feeling of his heart ferociously beating for you beneath your palm causes your insides to dance to its pulsating beat.

You promptly retrieve your hand as you snap out of your thoughts. Wriggling out of his grasp required much more effort than you thought it would.

“No, I’m going home.”

The stark perplexity in his eyes as you walk away from him with great resolve secretly amuses you. You’re the first girl who’s ever rejected him. It’s practically impossible not to go weak at the knees at his mere presence, but you vigorously contend to resist his lethal charms simply because you don’t want him to categorize you as the “easy” type, just like how he’s always done with every other girl he’s slept with. There’s something irresistibly enticing about your stubbornness that Taehyung just can’t get enough of, and it only drives him crazier for you.

“…unless you beg me to stay.”

Your words light a glimmer of hope in his eyes. Within the brief amount of time you’ve spent with Taehyung, you’ve already figured out that he’s the dominant type. He likes being the one giving orders and people submitting to him. Basically, if he wants something, he gets it – no but’s, no if’s.

It was psychological torment for an egotistical man like him to be the first one to capitulate to his salacious desires and pin you against the wall like he did in the elevator although if he could do it all over again, he wouldn’t change a thing. You’re just too good to be true for him to pass up.

He never had to beg anyone to stay. It was always the other way around. Every single girl he’s ever been with begged him never to leave – that they would do anything he wanted them to – but Taehyung is a fickle man, who quickly loses interest.

He envisages a woman who has the same level of coyness as him, but would still submit to him when asked to, and that woman in his fantasy incarnates in you. It isn’t just your effortless beauty that’s gotten him head over heels, but more than anything, your daring and charming disposition. He was ready to swallow his pride just to be able to call you his.

He lightly grasps onto your right arm with both of his hands.

“P-Please. Stay. I’m… begging you,” he struggles and almost gets choked up on his words as if taking a large capsule without chugging water to help push it down.

It’s only five words and yet the difficulty he had to endure throughout his strenuous life as an idol doesn’t even come close to the difficulty he had to endure to utter them. This makes his words all the more meaningful.

You know that you would eventually fuck each other tonight one way or another the moment you began playing this torturous game of seduction with him, but you want to entertain yourself with the sight of him pleading you with his best puppy dog eyes before it inevitably comes to that point.

He’s never wanted anyone as badly as he wants you, and the feeling is mutual. You would’ve thrown yourself at him and engulfed him in a passionate kiss that very moment had it not been for the tiny shred of dignity left in your body.

“Since you asked so nicely, how can I say no?” you cup his cheek with your right hand and give him a playful smirk.

His eyes briefly flutter shut and you feel him leaning into your palm, indulging in its warmth. After a moment, they peel open, but its familiar, kind depths have vanished. His eyes that were imploring and angelic just a moment ago are now diabolical and fervid. The abrupt shift in his mood causes your insides to leap in simultaneous fright and anticipation for what is yet to come.

He tightens his grip on your arm and drags you along with him as he skitters towards the elevator, and that moment you knew that if you weren’t already having the night of your life, you’re about to now.

The sexual tension is ablaze once again, fiercer than ever once the elevator doors slide shut, but you both know better than to commit the same mistake of possibly exposing yourselves to people in an intimate position, so you try your hardest to restrain yourselves until you make it to his room.

His room is at the left side hidden in the very far-end corner of the forty-fifth floor. He swiftly unlocks the door with a glossy key card, and before you are able to absorb your surroundings and the massive size of his suite, he slams you against the wall harder than he did in the elevator, causing the hallway to echo with a loud thud, his moist lips only an inch away from yours.

“Now… Where were we?” he smirks, his warm breath fanning your trembling lips, coaxing them to part slightly for his kiss. You stare at his luscious lips and tentatively gratify yourself with the thought of them on yours as you patiently wait for him to make his move.

He proceeds to chew on your lower lip tenderly, pulling it slightly and then letting go, repeating the agonizing process thrice.

You grow impatient and needy, and he is satisfied with the effect of his teasing on you. His mouth latches onto yours, completely robbing your lungs of air before you can even replenish it with another intake of breath.

His tongue breaks into the entrance of your mouth, gliding forcefully past your enclosure to greet your tongue in a fateful encounter. The wetness of his tongue envelopes your taste buds, causing you to moan loudly in his unforgiving lips as you struggle to maintain composure. Your good sense of rhythm translates into your kiss as your tongue responsively entwines and gyrates with his in rhythmic syncopation.

He grabs a fistful of hair from your mane to hold you in place, and you tilt your head at a certain angle to provide ease for his tongue to explore your mouth. The soft clicking of your tongues as they come into slick contact with one other is the only thing your ears choose to hear.

He intensifies the kiss and pulls you closer to him by the small of your back. His hands slowly make their way to your ass and kneads them like hardened dough. He breaks the kiss briefly, grinning from ear to ear with his eyes shut as he playfully spanks your ass with a reverberating clap.

His lips find its way to yours again, and his sinewy arms hoist you up from the ground, sustaining the kiss. He finally lays you down on his king-sized bed, which is more than spacious for the both of you to play around on all dawn.

He hovers over you and plants his hands firmly at your sides to support his weight. His eyes trail from your face to your neck, until it finally stops on your chest, admiring your swathed beauty. You’re absolutely perfect, he thinks to himself, but you could easily surpass the limits of perfection without all the fabric shrouding your nudity.

“Now do you still want to go home?” he asks even though he already knows what your answer will be. The mere validation that you desperately want to be there as much as he does is all he needs to resume his advances.

“No,” you reply cogently.

“I thought so.” The corners of his lips curl into a malicious smile. “You’re mine tonight.”

He rises from the bed, granting you the spectacular view of his statuesque body. From where you patiently lay, you could see his erection forming a tent in his slacks. Your fiery eyes are already mentally undressing him, and he sneers a playful grin at you whilst undoing his tie when he notices your keenness.

He continues staring into your needy eyes whilst unbuttoning his polo without a single word, yet the message is crystal clear – he doesn’t want anything else in this world as badly as he wants you.

He removes his shoes and belt nonchalantly, and unzips his slacks without sparing a glance below, focusing only on you. His long erection springs free causing your mouth to hang slightly agape without you realizing it. Sora would kill to be in your very position right now. In fact, millions of girls would. You don’t exactly know what you did to deserve this, but you’re immensely flattered and grateful to the deities above that you did.

“I’m going to have a hectic, tiring day ahead, so I hope you can help me unwind for at least a little while. Can you do that for me, babygirl?”

You quiver as he calls you that.

“Yes,” you reply obediently without hesitation.

Your heartbeats hasten and your skin grows warm underneath the weight of his gaze, hands fidgeting at your sides.

“Suck,” he demands sternly and beckons you to come forward.

You gulp nervously, not because you loathed the idea of being the one to giving pleasure, but because besides a couple of porn videos you unintentionally came across whilst going on a study website in high school, you’re going into this completely blind and inexperienced.

You don’t want to keep him waiting though, so you grab his girth and spontaneously run your tongue over the tip, a string of arousal following your tongue as you draw it back. _So this is what it tastes like?_ you think to yourself.

Taehyung’s gasp is almost inaudible, but it’s enough to tell you that he’s enjoying this. Placing his hands on your head, he urges you to take him into your mouth, and so you do. You take every single mouthful as he thrusts into you, almost choking you with his girth. A loud gasp escapes his lips as your tongue circles around him. You decide to swallow him, confident about seeing him revel in the sweet sensation of your soft, moist lips around him.

“Fuck, (Y/N)! You’re so incredibly good at this,” he cries out and tugs on your hair as you withdraw from him. Not only did you surprise him but also yourself. You continue sucking his dick until he signals you to stop.

“You literally blew me away. I feel like my dick was made for your mouth. Because I’m beyond satisfied with your performance, you’re getting a reward,” he pushes you towards the bed. Your pants enveloped your thick thighs too perfectly that you needed him to aid you wriggle out of it.

He licks two of his fingers and massages your clothed clit. You aggressively cling to the sheets, writhing with desire that only he could provide. He is pleased by the lubricated feeling of his fingers drenched in your juices.

He carefully slips your underwear off and marvels at the sight of you soaking wet for him. It drives him mad with hunger.

“How are you already so wet for me, baby? I’ve barely even done anything to you yet,” he smiles and licks the cream off his fingers clean like a cat.

He takes a quick whiff of you and charges his tongue inside you without warning, ravenously exploring your every crevice. Your breath hitches as the glorious sensation of his tongue fills and enraptures you in its spell. His tongue leaves you and he wipes off any remaining residue of your wetness on his lips off with the back of his hand like a predator who just finished his meal.

“Strip,” he commands with an unwavering dominance in his tone.

You realize he’s referring to your silk top, so you unceremoniously toss it on the floor. You feel your nipples stand erect, begging for sweet release as you fumble for the clasp at the back of your bra and undo it.

With feverish haste, he pushes you back to a lying position, clambers up onto bed, and straddles you in between his sturdy legs.

“You. Are. Mine. Do you understand?” he slowly whispers into your ear. The scent of perfume against his skin is intoxicating.

You attempt to find your voice but you can’t. You’re a breathless mess and the only response you manage is a solemn nod.

He smirks and nibbles your earlobe. He fondles your breasts as he plants delicate kisses along your collarbone. Your hands bury in his hair as his hot breath lingers over your hardened peaks. He swipes his tongue over your nipple, nips it tenderly, and pulls on it ever so slightly, eyes darting back to yours every time he lets go.

He swiftly grabs a condom from the pocket of his slacks, props your legs over his shoulders for better leverage, and positions his throbbing head towards your dripping entrance. He cautiously slips his girth inside your folds, giving you time to adjust to his size.

A wave of insatiable lust washes over you. He bites his lip at the tight welcome of your insides clenching around him.

“Fuck, baby. You’re so tight. Are you still a virgin?” His breathing is ragged.

“I-I am…” you reply in broken syllables.

His eyes widen, initially in shock, and then in what looks like elation. You look at him questioningly when he doesn’t utter a word.

“You’re so incredibly beautiful. It just doesn’t make sense to me,” he says, quite taken aback. “It’s a pleasure to be the one to take your virginity,” he smirks, his lips tracing lines across your inner thigh.

“The pleasure is all mine.” You aren’t lying for his sake because it’s undeniably clear that pleasure is painted all over your face. You covet his entirety more than anything in this damned world.

He plunges deeper into you, causing you to arch your back at the alien sensation of his remarkable length shifting inside you. Your hips jerk forward, and despite how much each thrust aches, it’s all worth it.

He throws his head back, gratified by the feeling of your walls contracting around him, lips slightly parted to catch his breath more conveniently.

He grunts and thrusts faster into you – in, out, in, out. It feels relentless although you don’t mind.

“Ahh… Taehyung, please!” you scream.

“That’s right, baby. Scream for me,” he encourages.

He lets your legs fall on the bed, and readjusts himself above you, careful not to withdraw his cock. Your trembling arms begin to like jelly from his rutting, and he aggravates it by sucking on your dangling breasts again, his tongue hungrily rolling over your areola.

Oh, the things you would give to do this with him every night. But then you figured you’re already beyond lucky to even have him for a night.

He continues to hyperventilate, each breath coming out more tremulous and staccato. By now, your throat is hoarse from your incessant howling and you know you’re both close to coming undone.

He pounds harder and harder and with one final pound, he plops onto you in an enervated heap, and sleep eventually catches up to claim your consciousness.


End file.
